Archive for February, 2019

That is happiness.

In her  continued quest to find quotes and meaningful words, Nita Padamsee came across this on the website GoodReads:
“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.” 
― Herman Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

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Points of view

Photos by Pamela Paulsrud

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Tree of Knowledge

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Artwork by Debbie Wilson

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CLLIG4 copy

Art by Gerry Jackson Kerdok

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Voices of the trees

My tree story.
Living on the central Oregon Coast in the Pacific Northwest affords great opportunity for walking in the woods among huge old growth trees. I marvel at their beauty and feel a presence even from the giant stumps left over from logging a century ago. I walk with my dog several times a week on secluded forest trails behind my house. It’s quiet in the solitude save for the voices of the trees who seem to speak volumes.

Christie Burns Treewhispers IMG_7317
Art, story and handmade paper by Christie Burns

Handmade paper with Douglas Fir needle inclusions, walnut ink, gouache, and gold foil dots.

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Snowy Pt. Townsend, Washington

We just returned from snowy Pt. Townsend, Washington, where the trees were dressed in snow.

Photos by Phawnda Moore

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Photo by Pamela Paulsrud

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Mockups with tree branches

Marijo and I have discussed for years what the design of the railing screen should look like. I did mockups with tree branches from the land to catalog design iron pieces that could be assembled into various configurations.

This is the design that finally won. It is framed in cherry wood from the land to match the cabinet, baseboard, door jams, and trim in the house.

It was cut from 3/16 carbon steel with water jet on which I sprayed a dark maroon color.

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Stained glass transom and cabinets by Jack Carney and the marvelous painting by Erin Carney Griffin.

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